The spring rain in Light City had been falling for three straight days.
In the Drunken Bear tavern in the south of the city, a fur merchant who had just come in from outside took off his cloak, rainwater dripping from its edges to pool on the floor.
"Damn this weather," he muttered, squeezing his way to the bar. "A hot ale."
The tavern keeper slid over a clay mug and asked casually, "Coming from the south? Was the road peaceful?"
"Not peaceful at all." The fur merchant took a large gulp, his breath fogging in the air. "Rumors are flying everywhere. They say our Countess is planning to ally with some Baron from the swamps, and it's even alarmed the Sun Clan."
His voice wasn't loud, but the two words "Sun Clan" were like a stone dropped into a pond, and the conversations at the surrounding tables immediately died down.
A local cloth merchant at the next table leaned in, lowering his voice.
